Life or Something Like It
by Koinaka
Summary: When Kurt and Blaine set out from Lima on a cross-country road trip with the intention of gaining some valuable life experiences, Kurt had no idea that he would be gaining a whole new life.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

Warnings: AU for Glee (Kurt & Blaine never got together), AU for True Blood from Episode 1 X 10

No pairings for now, but I'm taking suggestions. Not sure if I want it to be Kurt/Blaine or a True Blood pairing like Kurt/Eric or something else. Lemme know if you have any suggestions.

Life or Something Like It

By Koinaka

_ Life is just what happens to you, _  
_While your busy making other plans._  
-Beautiful Boy_, _John Lennon

Chapter One

Taking a road trip across the country to celebrate their high school graduation had been Blaine's idea. Kurt's idea of a vacation involved many things, none of which included rundown motels and death by way of clogged arteries due to extensive fast food consumption. If he had his way, they would be walking hand-in-hand down the Champs-Élysées instead of down a street in some backwater town in Louisiana that made Lima look like a booming metropolis.

"Tell me again why we're here in…what's the names of this town again?" Kurt asked; disdain dripping from his voice as he took in their motel room.

There was no way he was sleeping on _those _sheets because he was fairly certain that the large brown circle wasn't part of the pattern but a stain of some sort. Blaine had laughed at him for bringing his own sheets with them and said that he was being ridiculous, but that didn't stop the two boys from sharing a bed after discovering a rather questionable stain on the comforter of Blaine's bed in the first motel that they had stayed in.

Blaine flashed Kurt a wide grin and pushed his hot pink sunglasses up on his nose, his dark curls flying around his face as he did. "Bon Temps," he filled in helpfully. "And I told you—life experiences, dummy. I'm just going to change clothes, and we can grab something to eat. I still can't believe you're wearing layers, I'm practically soaking wet with sweat." He shook his head at Kurt in exasperation. "Seriously. Just looking at you is making me sweat."

"Fashion knows no season," Kurt said, his eyes sweeping across Blaine's current outfit of khakis cargo shorts and a t-shirt with a band Kurt had never heard of before on the front of it. Clearly Blaine wasn't of the same opinion.

He sighed as he watched Blaine duck into the bathroom. _Life experiences. _That was the same line he had used to get Kurt to agree to the trip in the first place.

"Have you ever just wanted to see what America had to offer?" he had asked Kurt one spring morning afternoon. They were curled up together on Kurt's bed watching some show on the Travel channel about a man that would put Finn's ability to eat the weirdest foods to shame.

Kurt had said yes because it was the truth, after all. Of course, when he imagined traveling around America, those trips were primarily centered around trips to New York or Los Angeles.

They went back to watching the show; or rather Blaine went back to the show while Kurt flipped through the latest issue of _Vogue_ half asleep and getting closer to actual sleep every second.

"We should do it!" Blaine exclaimed a few minutes later. He sat up, his sudden motion jarring Kurt awake and nearly causing him to fall off the bed.

"Do what?" he asked, taking Blaine's outstretched hand and allowing him to pull him into an upright position.

"Go on a road trip this summer."

Blaine's excitement had been infectious, and before he had even realized what he was doing, he found himself agreeing. "Sure. Where to?"

Blaine just shrugged. "Who cares? Anywhere. _Everywhere._ We'll just pick a direction and drive. Wherever the wind blows us, that's where we'll go. Just think of the life experiences we'll gain. We'll be just like Jack Kerouac."

"Who's that?" Kurt asked dubiously.

Blaine's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Haven't you ever read _On the Road_?"

Kurt's admission that he had not, in fact, even heard of that book sent Blaine into some sort of near apoplectic fit wherein Kurt was practically pushed into his own car—and how do you like that?—driven to the local bookstore, and then forced to purchase a copy of said book.

Even after finishing the book, Kurt wasn't sure that a road trip which involved no set destination was a good idea, but Blaine had looked so hopeful and so excited that Kurt hadn't had the heart to turn him down.

They'd been on the road for three weeks—three weeks traveling _south_—and so far the only life experiences they had had was learning that Blaine was never _ever _allowed to do laundry unsupervised and that eating tacos from a stand on the side of the road in Arkansas—Blaine yet again—wasn't the smartest thing to do.

Still, small bouts of food poisoning and pink socks—which Blaine proudly wore—aside, the trip hadn't all been bad. It had actually been a lot of fun. Every time they came to a new town—and it was always some sort of small town which, quite frankly, was fairly worrisome as Kurt had no intention of ever living in a small town again—they would explore every nook and cranny of it, Kurt snapping picture after picture of not only Blaine but their surroundings as they did.

When they weren't exploring, Blaine would scribble song lyrics in one of his many composition books while Kurt either wrote about their day in his journal or wrote out postcards to send to his dad and his friends. Sometimes Blaine would pull out his guitar and the two would put on impromptu concerts. One time they even ended up making nearly a hundred dollars singing at a coffee shop that reminded Kurt strongly of the Lima Bean.

One of Blaine's favorite pastimes on the trip was spending time at the local hangouts in whatever town they happened to be in collecting the stories of those around him. With his effervescent personality and bright smile, Blaine made friends easily, and by the time they had arrived in Bon Temps, Louisiana, Blaine had over a dozen composition books devoted entirely to those stories.

At night, though, they would lay together in whatever rundown motel Blaine had chosen for them—every time Kurt expressed his displeasure, Blaine would ramble on about how the rooms had character, whatever that meant—and either talk for hours or watch reruns of cheesy sitcoms until they both fell asleep with their limbs tangled together.

So it might not have been the most glamorous of vacations, but Kurt was glad that he'd come. Of course the fact that he was spending every waking moment with the boy he was desperately in love with probably had a lot to do with it—even if said boy still didn't feel that way about him.

"Hey, you ready to go? I'm _starving_."

Startled, Kurt looked up to find Blaine standing in front of him. His hair was damp in an obvious attempt to tame it although it really was a lost cause due to the heat and humidity in the South.

He nodded, straightening his clothes as he stood. The difference between his outfit and Blaine's was that even though Kurt was wearing layers—and only one, really—he chose fabrics that were more permeable. Not to mention the fact that he had a tendency to be rather cold natured which was why he dressed in layers in the first place.

"I don't see how you can be hungry, though," he said as they left the room. "I watched you singlehandedly eat an entire family size bag of Doritos not even an hour ago. It was definitely not one of your finest moments."

Blaine patted his stomach with a laugh. "I'm a growing boy," he said. "Now, come on. I saw a little bar and grill up the road. Merlotte's or something. I would absolutely kill for a bacon cheeseburger right now."

Kurt rolled his eyes at his best friend's antics but dutifully followed him out to the Navigator. He tossed Blaine his keys and climbed into the passenger seat. Kurt had been driving the majority of the day and even the thought of driving was enough to make him feel nauseous.

Surprisingly, Merlotte's was a lot better than some of the places Blaine had dragged him to. Okay, so that was a bit of an exaggeration, but all things considered it could have been a lot worse. It was clean and the wait staff was friendly which made it automatically nicer than any of the places they had eaten at in Mississippi. The food left a lot to be desired, in Kurt's opinion, but Blaine seemed happy and that was enough for him.

They spent the better part of the night there, Blaine discussing the upcoming college football season with a couple of boys who had to be at least a handful of years older than them while Kurt watched on from their table, a fond expression on his face as Blaine's eyes lit up with excitement. Seeing Blaine like this, so carefree and happy and completely and unapologetically himself, made the trip worth it—even if he had to stay in a hundred more rundown motels and look at every piece of antique junk in America.

This Blaine—and Kurt felt fairly certain this was the _real _Blaine Anderson—was so different from the one he had known at Dalton. He was truly blossoming without the weight of his father's expectations on his shoulders. Just last night he had confessed his desire to write a novel instead of pursuing law like his father expected him to do. A year ago that would have not been possible.

"See, that wasn't too bad, was it?" Blaine asked him later as they got ready for bed.

"I suppose not," he allowed. "Everyone was very friendly."

"How about we go into Shreveport tomorrow? We could see what kind of shopping they have there. Plus, Jason, that's one of the guys I was talking to earlier, told me that there's an actual _vampire _bar there—can you believe it?—and I really think that we should check it out."

Kurt, like the rest of the world, had been thrown for a loop when the vampires had "come out of the coffin" two years ago, and to be honest, it still felt a little surreal to him. There weren't any vampires in Lima that he knew of, so the only thing he really knew about them was what he saw on TV and what he heard people saying about them.

Not that he gave any credit to the things he heard people in Lima saying. He certainly didn't feel the way some people in Lima did—Principal Figgins, he knew, was a member of the Fellowship of the Sun church as were a number of other people in Lima, including the Fabrays—if anything, he empathized with them because they were just like him in that they wanted to enjoy the same rights that other Americans enjoyed.

And while he wasn't as fascinated by them like some of his friends, Tina for example, were, he definitely wasn't going to turn down a chance to see one for himself.

Besides, what was the worst thing that could happen?


	2. Chapter 2

Life or Something Like It

By Koinaka

_Life is just what happens to you, _  
_While your busy making other plans._  
-Beautiful Boy_, _John Lennon

Chapter Two

Kurt had known that it would only a matter of time before he got sick, and honestly, he had expected it to happen much sooner than it did. It wasn't that he was particularly frail or anything like that; it was just that his body wasn't used to life on the road. He wasn't used to sleeping in cars or in awful motels. He wasn't used to eating nonorganic food, so he definitely wasn't used to eating the sort of food they had been eating while on the road. He picked the healthiest options he could—of course he did—and made sure to stop by farmer's markets when they came across them for fresh fruit. He also took a multitude of vitamins and supplements.

Still, though, he had known it would happen, the only question would be when. So, when he woke up on their second day in Bon Temps with all of the telltale signs of an impending illness—runny nose, an awful cough, and a terrible headache—he hadn't been too surprised.

"Maybe you'll feel better later," Blaine, ever the optimist, was quick to look on the bright spot. Kurt could tell that he was exceedingly disappointed about them not being able to go to the vampire bar.

"Maybe," Kurt echoed weakly though he couldn't see how a few hours would make much of a difference.

But by noon, Kurt could add a fever, chills, and muscle aches to his list of symptoms. Plus he was so tired that he could scarcely keep his eyes open.

"Must be the flu," Blaine finally admitted. "How do you feel?"

"How do you think I feel, Blaine?" Kurt snapped. All morning, he had hovered until Kurt was ready to strangle him. "I'm sick, and all I want to do is lay in my bed—not some bed that may or may not have been the site of a grisly murder if the state of these sheets were any indication."

He felt guilty for his outburst almost immediately because Blaine looked stricken. "I'm so sorry," he said hastily. "Of course you don't feel well. I saw a pharmacy down the road. I'll just go and get some medicine, okay?"

When he came back with what must have been half of their cold and flu selection along with a stack of magazines and a humidifier, Kurt felt even worse. He tried to apologize, but Blaine just shrugged dismissively. "Don't worry about it. I know how it is when you're sick. I promise that we'll stay somewhere nicer in the next city. It's obvious that your delicate sensibilities can't take much more of 'roughing it.'"

But he gave Kurt a winning smile, so he knew that all was forgiven. After a lunch of chicken noodle soup—the kind in a cup that Kurt's mom used to buy him when he was sick—Blaine tucked him into bed, smoothing his hair off of his forehead and pressing his lips there fleetingly before settling himself in the chair next to the bed with his journal. The last thing he heard before finally falling asleep was Blaine singing.

The motel room was empty and dark when he woke up. Next to his bed there was a note from Blaine saying that he had gone to Merlotte's for dinner, and he would be back in a little while, but to call if he needed something. Disorientated, he staggered from his bed and into the bathroom. Though he still felt awful, he was definitely feeling better than he had been before. He didn't particularly want to get out of bed and go over to Merlotte's, but he liked the idea of being in the motel alone even less.

He felt less disorientated after a shower, but for someone who never took over-the-counter medication unless he could help it, he still felt more than a little sluggish as he dressed. He remembered once seeing a commercial where the person taking the medication's head looked like a balloon floating away, and that was an apt description of how he felt.

Stepping into the muggy air outside of the motel didn't help matters at all. It was much hotter than Kurt was used to, and by the time he'd walked the length of the small parking lot, his skin was slick with sweat. Merlotte's wasn't very far away at all, and even though he knew that Blaine would come and pick him up if he wanted, he hoped that the walk would help clear his head. He hadn't counted on how dark it was though. Obviously what little public funds Bon Temps had at its disposal—and Kurt seriously wondered whether they had _any _public funds—weren't allotted for street lights.

Merlotte's was just around the corner from the motel, but there was a small wooded area between the motel and the bar. On first appearance he didn't see anyone else around, but he had the sinking suspicion that he was being followed or watched at the very least. When he came to the wooded area, he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before plowing on.

Halfway across the area, he was nearly blinded by the headlights from an oncoming car. His breath hitched in his throat as the car slowed and then came to a complete stop on the side of the road beside where he was walking. A lone figure emerged from the car. Moving much faster than humanly possible, the person—man, woman, Kurt couldn't tell but either way he knew it was a vampire, no human could move that fast—grabbed him by one of his wrists, squeezing hard enough to cause the bone to snap in half. He let out a strangled scream, but was cut off halfway through when the vampire stuck a needle into his neck. The last thing he saw before the darkness pulled him under was the vampire's fangs glistening.

When he came to, he was in the trunk of a moving car. His first instinct was to panic, but he tried to remember the self-defense classes his dad had made him take over the spring when he announced that he and Blaine were going to be traveling the country alone. If this was a modern car, there would be a release switch somewhere, but a little bit of finagling told him that there was no release switch. He took a series of deep breaths in an attempt to keep calm. He could kick and scream and beat the lid of the trunk, but that wouldn't help in the long run. He would still be trapped in the trunk, only without the energy to run once he was actually in a position to do so. That was, of course, provided his body would actually cooperate. His limbs felt sluggish and heavy even now. He doubted he could walk let alone run.

After a few minutes, the car came to a stop. Kurt tensed—in preparation for what, he didn't know—but no one came to let him out. Instead there appeared to be a meeting of some sort taking place. Kurt blinked rapidly when the trunk finally did open. The vampire grunted an order for him to get out, and when he didn't comply immediately, he made to grab ahold of him. His knees buckled beneath him the moment he was in an upright position, sending him unceremoniously to the ground. Around him the meeting continued. Kurt tried to pay attention to what was going on, but his head was throbbing, and all he could think about was the fact that he was surrounded by vampires.

Then one of the vampires spoke, shocking Kurt out of his drug-filled haze. "William Compton, you owe us a life."

At those words, Kurt struggled to pull himself into more of an upright position, one of his hands pressing hard against his aching head. He stared wide-eyed at the vampire who had just spoken before swinging his head around to look at the others who were surrounding him. He made eye contact with one of them, a tall vampire with long blonde hair, before setting his gaze on the dark-haired vampire walking towards him.

The vampire dropped to one knee and, carefully, raised Kurt's chin until their eyes met.

"Look in my eyes," the vampire said, his voice cool and silky.

Unable to pull away, Kurt did so, and then all thoughts of running were gone because he had no need to run. Everything was just fine. He was perfectly safe there. No harm was going to be done to—

"—not permitted."

The peace that had settled over him ended abruptly when the vampire broke their eye contact. He began to struggle because he was not perfectly safe there. He was in immense danger. The vampire was too strong, though, so there would be no escaping. Still, he couldn't _not _struggle—couldn't just allow himself to be killed, to be murdered for no apparent reason.

"It'll all be alright," the vampire murmured as Kurt thrashed in his arms, a litany of pleas falling from his tongue.

He repeated the same empty promise over and over again while he maneuvered Kurt into what could almost pass as an embrace. "Please forgive me," the vampire said, finally, before sinking his fangs the expanse of Kurt's exposed neck.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry this took so long! I got sucked into millions of Supernatural crossovers. I hope you enjoy this. I took some liberties with how a newborn vampire may act in the TB universe because we really don't know much, and Jessica irritated me with the way she acted in the early episodes she was in.

Also-pairings. I could go with some Klaine, or maybe just go straight to Eric. I can't decide. Any thoughts?

Life or Something Like It

By _Koinaka_

Life is just what happens to you,  
While your busy making other plans.  
_-Beautiful Boy, John Lennon_

Chapter Three

The first thing Kurt realized when he woke up was that he wasn't in his bed. He wasn't in any bed, for that matter, he was in what appeared to be a shallow grave. He gasped and clawed at the earth surrounding him until he managed to dig his way to the surface.

Once on the surface, he gulped in large mouthfuls of air, but something was off about the entire process because while not breathing had been uncomfortable, it didn't seem to be necessary for him to breath. Experimentally he took in another breath, and as he did, his senses were hit with a hundred different scents at once. He could smell the musty scent of the earth, the flowering petals of countless species of flowers, the moon, the humidity, _everything_—he could smell _everything_.

He could also hear everything. If he stood perfectly still, he could hear the faint sound of hundreds of hearts beating, hear the rushing of blood through veins. It was memorizing, intoxicating, _torturous_ because thinking of hearts beating and blood made Kurt notice something else that had been lingering on the edges of his consciousness since he woke up.

He was hungry—no, he was thirty. Thirstier than he had ever been. It gnawed at his throat until he felt as dry as a piece of sandpaper, consumed every part of him until he was nothing but a thing who thirsted. Thirsted for what, he didn't know.

His nostrils flared as he tried to determine just where the blood he could hear and smell—and practically _taste_—was located. No sooner had he taken one step did he feel someone grasp his arm tightly. Surprised, he jerked his head around to find the man from the previous night standing in front of him. No, not man—_vampire_.

That was when the memories of the previous night came flooding back. He stumbled under the force of the memories. The pain he had felt while he was drained, the unwanted pleasure he had been forced to endure while drinking the vampire's blood.

Vampire.

Blood.

_He was a vampire_.

His eyes widened in horror, and he made a strangled sound as he jerked away from the vampire. "You," he said. "You've ruined my life."

The vampire hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yes, and for that I am truly sorry."

Kurt ignored him, zeroing on the pack of True Blood in his hands. He couldn't concentrate on anything but how thirsty he was. Maybe if he drank something, he would be able to think properly, to process everything. The vampire, seeing where Kurt's gaze was, handed him a bottle.

"The taste takes a bit of getting used to," he warned as Kurt took a small sip.

He was right. It tasted _wrong_. Too metallic and too something else that Kurt couldn't put his finger on, but he drank it anyway. One bottle and then another. When he had finished the third, he was feeling…well, not exactly like himself but better than he had. He could at least concentrate now.

"Does the A.V.L. condone kidnapping and then turning humans against their will generally, or was I a special occasion?" Kurt asked, his eyes fixed on the vampire in front of him.

"Not usually," he allowed. "Under…certain circumstances, however, it is unavoidable."

Kurt sank down onto the overturned tree the other vampire was sitting on. "Do you have a name? I would like nothing better than to never see or talk to you again, but seeing as that's unlikely, we should at least know one another's names. I'm Kurt Hummel."

"My name is Bill Compton."

"Bill Compton," Kurt said, bitterness staining his voice. "Well, Bill Compton, I would say that it's nice to meet you, but that would be a lie."

The other vampire sighed. "As your maker, it is my responsibility to care for you. I know that it might not seem like it now, but you can live almost exactly the same life as you did before—only at night. With us being out of the coffin, things are much different than they were in the past. Our quality of life is extremely high."

Kurt scoffed. "Somehow I doubt that I can continue road tripping with my friend before starting college at Julliard this fall, so no I can't live the same life."

"I suppose not," he conceded. "There are a great many things you can do, however. I would like to tell you about them, if you would allow me to."

"Unless you're going to tell me how I can go home to my family and friends, I'm not interested in listening to anything you have to say."

Bill tilted Kurt's chin up until their eyes locked. "I am sorry, Kurt, but that part of your life is over. You can never go home."

Kurt closed his eyes and turned away from him, one red tear after another trickled out from underneath his closed eyes, streaking his pale skin with blood. "Can you at least get my things from the motel I was staying at, or do I have to wear these incredibly dirty clothes for the rest of eternity?"

In addition to being caked with dirt and mud, there was now blood dripping down onto what had once been a white shirt, and while it seemed like such a little thing, suddenly all he could think about was his clothes. They were almost an extension of himself at times.

Bill hesitated. "It would be unwise to return to your motel. I will procure clothing for you, if necessary."

"I don't want just _any_ clothing," Kurt snapped. "Especially not the sort of clothes that could be found in this backwater town. And it's not only my clothes that I want. I want my journals, my iPod, my laptop—my personal belongings—and I think that you owe me that at the very least. You know, considering that you've taken everything else away from me. You can't expect me to have nothing, can you?"

"I—of course not. As your maker, it is my duty to not only teach you our ways, but to provide for you. If you make a list of the items that need replacing, I will do so at my earliest convenience."

The empty True Blood bottle that Kurt had been holding shattered as his grip tightened. "_No_! I don't want new items, I want _my _items." He sneered. "I doubt that you even could replace them here in—what's the name of this place again?"

"Bon Temps," Bill filled in, a wary look on his face. "I'm sure that, given time, you will grow to love it as I do. Now, if you are prepared to listen, I will explain to you what it means to be Vampire."

Kurt gave him a withering look. "I'm not an idiot, you know. I know what it means to be _Vampire_," he spat the words out.

"Do you? Well, then, by all means, enlighten me."

"It means that I can no longer go out in the sun, it means that I must drink blood to survive, it means that I can be injured by silver and killed by a stake. It means that my rights are limited, just as they were limited in life. Should I go on?"

Bill sighed. "I suppose that is sufficient for now. Just know that for as long as you stay with me, you will be mainstreaming as I do."

A grimace flitted across Kurt's face at the thought of drinking another drop of True Blood, but he nodded tersely. "Fine."

Bill stood. "Would you like to see your new home and get cleaned up now?"

"It's not like I have a choice, is it?" Kurt muttered as he followed Bill out of the cemetery.

Bill's house—if it could be called that—was only a short distance from the cemetery. It was a large plantation house which seemed to be falling to pieces. The steps leading up to the porch were derelict, and the paint was chipping. The inside was in even worse condition. Kurt was surprised it even had electricity as the rest of the house—even the furniture—seemed to be the originals.

"The bathroom is upstairs and to the right. You may borrow some of my clothing until I am able to procure some for you. We are the same height, but they may still be a little large on you because you are quite a bit slimmer than I."

The bathroom, at least, didn't seem to be falling apart. He undressed quickly, but when he took off his pants something fell out of one of his pockets.

It was his iPhone.

There were over 100 text messages and about that many missed calls. He opened the first one. It was from Blaine.

_Kurt, where are you? I'm seriously freaking out here. _

He began to feel very guilty after reading several more texts—each one a variation of the first and each one more and more frantic. How could he have forgotten Blaine—Blaine who was probably worried sick about him? Glancing nervously at the door, Kurt reached over and turned both the faucet on the sink and the shower on. Then, he took a deep breath and dialed Blaine's number on the phone.

The phone hadn't even rung once before Blaine answered it, his voice rough as if he'd been crying. "Kurt—are you okay? Where are you? Do you have any idea how worried I've been? How worried your dad is?"

"I'm somewhere in Bon Temps—near a cemetery, but I'm not sure exactly where. I wasn't conscious when they brought me here."

"What? Who took you?" he demanded. "I knew that you wouldn't have left willingly, and I told that Andy Bellefleur as much, but he didn't seem to think there was anything to worry about!"

"It was vampires, Blaine. I was walking to Merlotte's—" he ignored Blaine's interjection of "_What!"_ and continued, "and they grabbed me off of the street. I don't remember too much of what happened afterward. They drugged me." He shivered thinking about that night and how frightened he had been once he realized what was happening.

He heard Blaine let out a shuddering breath. "I'll be there soon. I'm leaving right away. Don't worry, everything's going to be fine—you're going to be fine."

"No!" Kurt exclaimed, a little louder than he meant to. He paused for a moment, listening for any indication that Bill had heard. When there was none, he continued. "You can't come here, Blaine. Not right now, and maybe not ever." He paused again. "And everything is most certainly _not_ fine. They—one of the vampires—bit me, and…"

"What?" Blaine asked, softly. "What did they do?"

"He changed me."

Silence reigned for a minute. When Blaine spoke again, his voice was strained. "I'm sorry—what? Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Kurt sighed. He was about to speak again when he heard someone—no doubt Bill—step onto the creaking staircase. "I have to go," he said in a hushed voice. "I'll call again when I can."

He hung up before Blaine had a chance to respond, turning off the phone immediately. If Bill knew that he had his phone, the likelihood of him being allowed to keep it wasn't very good.

There was a knock on the door. "Everything alright in there?" Bill asked through the door.

"Yes," was Kurt's only reply.

When Bill said nothing further, he climbed into the shower. The hot water felt _amazing _on his skin. It was then that he realized how cold he had been before. He stayed under the spray of water until it ran cold. Only then did he get out and dress in the outfit that Bill had placed outside of the bathroom door, putting his phone back into his pants pocket.

Bill was pacing the length of the living room when Kurt came down the steps.

"Come along. I have urgent business to which I must attend."

Kurt scowled but one look from Bill was enough to silence the retort on his tongue. "Fine," he spat instead.

He spent the entire drive staring out the window and trying to keep calm. It had taken all the self-control he had not to jump from the car when they passed by the motel he and Blaine had been staying.

The most noticeable thing about being a vampire—after the never-ending thirst, of course—was how intense everything felt. Anger, sadness, all of it felt as if it had been magnified a hundred-fold. He wondered if he would ever get used to it.

When the car pulled to a stop, and he saw where they were, his brow furrowed in confusion. They were at Fangtasia—the vampire bar that Blaine had wanted to go to.

"Do not wander away from me," Bill said as they walked the distance from the parking lot to the back door.

"As your maker, I command you," he added when he saw the calculating look in Kurt's eyes.

He hadn't been planning to make a run for it—well, not exactly—but he still deflated at Bill's command. If it had been just words, he wouldn't have minded because words could be ignored, but the moment that Bill had uttered the last portion, Kurt couldn't have wandered off even if he had wanted to.

Bill led him through a maze of offices and store rooms before finally going into the last door. There was another vampire in there. He had blonde hair and looked vaguely familiar. Had he been there the previous night?

There was a conversation going on behind him, but he stood, transfixed in the doorway of the office where he could spy the bar beyond.

In hindsight, it was probably good that Bill had commanded him not to wander because once they entered the building; the compulsion to obey was the only thing keeping him from draining every human in the building dry.

All he could hear was the beating of a hundred separate hearts.

All he could smell was their blood.

He could almost taste it on his tongue it was so close. His throat burned white hot despite the fact that he had already drunk three bottles of True Blood.

"I want them. I'm so thirsty," he whined low in his throat, his tone petulant and not at all like his normal voice. There was nothing human about him in that moment. His mind was a whirlwind of blood and violence. He could think of a hundred different ways to go about draining each human in the room.

It was only when a sharp voice commanded him to turn around that he did so.

"You see how he is. I do not have the time to teach him control," Bill said, gesturing to where Kurt was standing with his arms folded across his chest glaring at him.

The blonde vampire studied him for a moment. If Kurt was still human, he would have blushed underneath the penetrating gaze. "Very well then. Kurt, how would you like to learn how a real vampire feeds?"

Kurt's eyes widened. "Yes," he breathed.


End file.
